


Closer

by punkrockgaia



Series: Bad Romance [2]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Asphyxiation, Blood, Callous disregard for human life, Gun play, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-08
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-04 00:07:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1074660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkrockgaia/pseuds/punkrockgaia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I want to feel you from the inside...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You Make Me Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> This is "Trigger Happy Jack" from the other point of view. As always, Diego belongs to Nazi Nurse.

Kevin is so sweet. _So sweet._ Sweet like melted caramels. The cloying honey molds itself to incisors, bicuspids, molars, no matter how sharp. Diego buried his nose in his beloved's hair and sniffed deeply of sugar and hemoglobin.

Kevin's hair was tacky and wonderful and loaded with sticky iron. Diego slid a tongue along a wavy frond, sucked on the end, moaned.

Diego was hard and his wires were fully-charged, nearly sparking in the dark of the Desert Bluffs afternoon. He so hated to leave. But.

But business.

He took a deep, purposeful breath, stood up tall, straightened his grey waistcoat underneath his grey suit jacket. He cleared his throat.

Kevin, all sunshine and sparkles and glitter, turned around to face him. His face was the full force of the sun on the sand. His face was radiant happiness itself.

"Diego," he breathed, "are you leaving soon?"

Diego reached out a shaking hand and traced along the sharp cheekbones of his lover's face, past the scars from the rather more primitive smile program Strex had instituted before his ascension. His fingers feathered along a chiseled jawline to a wide mouth filled with sharp, sharp teeth. 

Gorgeous, beautiful needle-sharp teeth.

"Yes, _mi corazon._ Is that okay?"

Kevin pouted for a moment. "I don't understand why I can't go to the party. I miss Cecil! He's so sad all the time. He needs me to cheer him up."

Diego laughed. "Yes, yes, my darling. Soon you can go to Night Vale and cheer up poor, sad Cecil. But not tonight, all right? I don't think it's safe for you, yet."

Kevin blushed a pretty shade of tangerine for a moment, then met Diego's eyes, beaming. 

"Oh, yes, Diego. if you think so, it must be true. Tell Cecil hello for me, and get some pictures of that funny booth of theirs, okay?"

" _Mi alma,_ of course. Try to sleep while I'm gone, all right? Remember, the round blue pill and the oval green pill and the big red one. And you can play with the baby bunnies, but put any parts that fall off to the side."

Kevin favored him with a smile wider than the desert horizon. "Yes, yes, Diego! I'll be good while you're gone, I promise."

Diego ruffled his hair, then kissed him deeply. 

"I'll be back in the morning at the latest, Dearest Kevin."

"I'll be waiting, Perfect Diego." 

Diego exited the DBCR station headquarters, got into his Escalade, and started off down Route 800 toward Night Vale.


	2. You Can Have My Isolation; You Can Have the Hate that it Brings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You let me desecrate you.

Diego pulled into the squalid little parking lot of the squalid little radio station, and cringed. It wasn't fair that he had to go to this ridiculous party. He was a scientist. It just happened that he loved the Voice of Desert Bluffs more than disembowelment itself, and either he or Kevin had to go to the party, Strex willing. He growled and climbed down from his tall vehicle. 

He scanned the parking lot. Not many cars there yet, but what were there were either cruddy domestic models or cheap imports. Low. Fucking. Rent. His shiny patent wingtips slipped and slid over the gravel of the lot as he made his way to the door. 

Once inside, he could clearly see the difference between the Desert Bluffs people and the Night Vale trash. Why couldn't they dress decently, at least a charcoal-grey blazer? So much obnoxious orange fuzz and spandex. Diego made his way over to a group of co-workers -- Michelle from Finance, and Deborah from HR, and Albert from Commodities, among others.

They all exchanged hearty handshakes and quarterly earnings statements, but Diego found himself distracted. Some scotch would surely help.

He made his way through the acoustic-tiled and fraying-nylon-carpeted room to a shaky little table staffed by a typically-querulous Night Vale teen. He grunted at the obviously-slow child.

"Scotch, neat. Make it snappy." 

The young man had just handed him his glass of swill when he was jostled by a hipbone that felt familiar. Tamping down his flare of homicidal rage at the imposition, he looked to his right.

_Palmer._ Fucking goddamn Palmer. The reason he couldn't have Kevin with him, as a matter of fact.

What a fucking jerk. Standing there, with his stupid white hair and his stupid third eye and his stupid fucking tee-shirt like he knew anything. Smirking. Asshole. 

They traded a few insults. Diego got the last word, then disappeared before Palmer could detonate that smart fucking mouth of his. He rejoined his flock, but was unable to concentrate on what they were talking about.

_I'd like to shut that stupid goddamn fucking mouth of yours, Palmer,_ he thought. God, it was amazing. He was like Kevin, but... hateful. Totally fucking hateful. He was throbbing in his pants and buttoned his suit coat over his crotch to make it less obvious.

His sensitive nostrils quirked, scenting prey. His elbow shot out, rewarded by a yelp and a slosh of cheap gin over his sleeve. Palmer grimaced, three disgusting egg-white eyes narrowing at him.

Diego grinned and glad-handed him to the group. Palmer behaved like his typical simian self, then disappeared to get more booze to dull his already-substandard senses. Diego watched him go.

That stupid jacket.

That stupid, insulting shirt.

Those ridiculously tight purple pants.

Diego vividly thought of breaking him, in a very literal way. He'd bend him over a table or a chair, and there'd be a snap and the smell of charred bacon, and Palmer would be in two pieces.

He was _so hard._

He drained his scotch and tuned out his co-workers as he pondered. Why did he want to rip Palmer in half and fuck the leftover bloody chunks? It wasn't that he was unsatisfied by his darling Kevin, Kevin who would pin him down and force any loose object into his rectum with great force. No, that wasn't it at all.

But.

But he could love Kevin, but he could never _loathe_ him like he needed. He wanted to protect Kevin, not rip his throat out and play with the twitching pieces. Not like Palmer.

His nose twitched again. Nothing. He scanned the room, but there was nothing. No Palmer. He felt his muscles relax. He'd probably gone home to be with that flaccid piece of pie dough, Carlos. The danger had passed.


	3. You Can Have My Absence of Faith; You Can Have My Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You let me penetrate you.

The party droned on in the most boring way possible, until it broke up. Diego was about to get into his Escalade and burn up the pestilent pavement between Night Vale and Desert Bluffs when he remembered Kevin's request. The Night Vale sound booth was certainly quaint, what with its hardware, and behind the scenes, software. Once the changeover happened, of course, they'd convert to meatware and wetware.

He wandered back into the station, across the worn, mildew-smelling carpet, past the Station Management office. Outside the frosted-glass door, he paused, head lolling back, breathing deeply. 

The first scent was of awesome emptiness. Of vast space once filled and now vacated. Of dried tentacles and closing doors. A whiff of kelp -- of sunken death, sleeping.

But then, so much, much more delicious. The animal musk of fear, high and sharp and bright. So many decades of terror, built up like the yellow scum beneath the wallpaper of a chain smoker. Delectable.

Shortly, he was able to discern a note familiar, yet alien. Incense... Not the strawberry and cream incense of his beloved Kevin, but something darker. High John the Conqueror and Dragon's Blood. And a vivid note of the adrenaline of hysteria. He could taste it on his tongue, could practically lap it out of the air. He wanted to drink it, pour it down his throat in great foamy draughts.

Aching as he chafed against his wool pants, he entered the recording booth. So... lifeless. So dry. How could anyone make a broadcast with a mouth full of saltines?

He heard a voice behind him, indignant, intrusive.

"What the fuck are you doing in my booth?"

He turned, startled, fist swinging out instinctively, satisfied as his knuckles made hard contact with pointy bone, crunching. His satisfaction was short-lived, though, as an incredibly dense forehead jammed itself into his diaphragm. 

He lost wind, for a moment.

He moved unconsciously to protect himself against the unknown foe, grabbing a lapel and slamming a knee upward.

"Ah, Christ, my eye!"

 _Palmer._ No longer unmanned, he stood to face his adversary. The other man was reeling slightly, hand over his white eyebrows, third eyelid purpling and swelling shut. That fucking eye. Diego's hand went into his breast pocket and produced his switchblade. 

Third eyes. Kevin had had one, at one time. More trouble than they were worth, really. And gross. And ugly. And, aesthetically, he wanted this particular glowing white ocular carbuncle gone. And he wanted to stick his dick in the hole. It wasn't like Palmer had any brains to disturb in there anyway.

He brandished his blade at Palmer, who of course mouthed off. And the Smiling God moved within Diego. Skullfucking Palmer suddenly wasn't so important. But that ridiculous mouth was. That flapping fucking tongue.

He saw his moment, as Palmer opened his mouth particularly wide to complain about the simple cosmetic measure of removing that tumor on his forehead. As he did, Diego was able to force his fingers between those imperfect, crooked teeth of his and grasp ahold of the slimy, bumpy muscle inside.

Jesus Fuck. The feel of that tongue between his fingers... That soft, yielding uvula, that tight esophagus... Diego wanted to see how far he could get his fingers, maybe all the way to the epiglottis, pull that aside, down into the trachea, force it open, tear it, break it, break that voice... 

_Yes, Palmer, open up for me, choke for me, die for me..._

URK! OW! A knife of pain on his fingers, and they retracted instinctively from that blessedly warm, slimy maw. Diego hissed and saw the dark rivulet of blood run down his wrist, saw Palmer lick his lips with a bloody tongue, smelled the sharp mammal stink of hate and mortal fear in the air. 

He was undone. 

He grabbed Palmer and kissed him, roughly, tasting his own blood and the sweet, sinful blood of the other man as he did. Fuck, yes. He pushed Palmer to his knees, then unholstered his shiny little surprise, forcing the barrel of the Desert Eagle past Palmer's split lips.

God, what a beautiful sight, the shiny barrel of the pistol getting all smeared with blood and mucus and saliva, Palmer's eyes full of hate and lust. Diego waited for just the right moment to pull the trigger. He felt himself pulse. Almost... almost....

And then Palmer ruined it. As he ruined everything. He pulled his head back and asked for it.

Well, then, obviously that wouldn't do. It was no fun shooting someone who wanted to be shot.

Growling, Diego jerked Palmer to his feet. Maybe he couldn't shoot him, but his dick still needed satisfaction. He grabbed those slim, Kevin-like hips and spun him around, bending him over that stupid dry console. 

Fogged by lust as he was, he still knew to take precautions. He dug a condom out of his pocket, unrolled it over his cock, and slammed his way home. 

Palmer let loose an otherworldly squeal. Diego grabbed his hair and thrust forward savagely.

Every moment is a teachable moment. This was no exception. Diego decided to take the moment to teach Palmer about exactly how he was going to ruin his life. Palmer, dumb beast that he was, chose not to take the teaching. Diego had to shut him up. 

He put his hands around that ( _Kevin-like_ ) slender, warm neck and squeezed. It didn't take much pressure at all before the other man started to buckle in front of him, but not before jolting his hips wildly, then emitting all over the console. 

Nasty. 

Once Palmer's form had stilled but for the occasional twitch, Diego allowed himself to plow into his tight hole until he spilled. He howled as he spasmed over and over. God, it was so good to come without vulnerability, without losing anything to his partner.

He pulled out and started to dispose of the condom when Palmer groaned.

Oh, he was still alive. Bother.


	4. Closer to God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've got no soul to sell...

After he'd taken care of his own hygiene, it was a simple matter of cleanup. He'd considered leaving Palmer slumped over the console, stupid unprofessional pants around his stupid unprofessional shoes, but then he realized that might interfere with the morning programming, which would be Bad for Business. So instead he dragged him by the ankles to the sordid little break room, then flung him onto the moldy, fungoid couch cushions as best he could. The note and the spare change were an afterthought, but it never hurt to let the rabble know where they stood.

He cast a final, jaundiced eye over the station and the sloppy, undisciplined sack of protoplasm he'd just masturbated into, shuddered, and left. His shoes crunched over the gravel. There were only two cars left, his shiny black Escalade and a scabrous looking brown Volvo. Diego smirked, then pulled an official Strex (tm) sticker out of his breast pocket and affixed it to the elderly bumper of the boxy sedan.

He slid into the butter-soft leather seats of his sport utility lifestyle concept vehicle and took a deep, cleansing breath, then put the key in the ignition and made his way home.

The wide, pillowy tires crunched up the oyster shells of the driveway. He pulled into the garage, then locked the car and set the alarm. He unlocked the door of the sprawling, new, clean, hygenic mansion he shared with Kevin and hurried to the house alarm console, disarming it with the proper incantations.

He tiptoed up the stairs, hoping that he wouldn't wake his brilliant, joyous love. He snuck into the bathroom, hoping to get in the shower and scrub the Palmer stink off his skin when he was surprised by a brilliant set of ebony eyes at his shoulder.

His heart leapt.

Kevin beamed and pressed his nose into Diego's flesh. "Oh, you smell so _good_ , my love."

Diego smiled fondly. "Thank you, my dearest."

"Who is that that smells so deliciously alone and spent?"

Diego turned to face his love. "Can't you guess?"

Kevin's eyebrows twitched, then he flushed the color of a sunset. "Is it... Is it _Cecil_?"

"Got it in one, my genius darling."

Kevin squealed and kissed Diego deeply, sharp teeth drawing blood on his lower lip. "Ooh, and how was he?"

Diego thought for a moment, then sighed and pressed his forehead to Kevin's. "I think... I think, my love, that we will have a _very_ nice time with Mr. Palmer."

Kevin made a sound of ineffable joy and collapsed into Diego's arms. Diego hefted him over one shoulder and carried him to the bedroom.

All was right with the world.


End file.
